


A Kaiba's Carol

by bewdifuldragon



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Christmas, Gen, Humour, Parody, Sheer stupidity, kaiba in blue pajamas and dragon slippers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 21:59:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11953497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewdifuldragon/pseuds/bewdifuldragon
Summary: Yet another retelling of the Charles Dickens classic, only this time with less moral substance and more card-playing dorks.





	1. Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> After months and months of work, roadblock after roadblock and several teasers over on my Tumblr, I am thrilled to unveil my entry for this year's YGO Big Bang. But before we dive right in, a few things:  
> Some thank yous first of all (let's get that mushy stuff out the way before the first chapter, shall we) - to the Mods, for running this awesome event and being patient as heck with my newness to this sort of thing; to Tumblr user tachishini for putting their epic photoshop skills to good use to create the amazing banner below, to my brilliant Beta whose mad skills you can admire over at ask-thebrothers-kaiba on Tumblr; to my pal Serial for letting me bounce around about a trillion terrible ideas before settling on ones I liked way back at the beginning; and to everyone who encouraged me along the way.  
> For those of you familiar with the original tale, below you will find a cast list with the characters from A Christmas Carol and their AKC counterparts; but if you'd rather be surprised, feel free to just scroll really fast or something. Don't forget to leave me your thoughts, and thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Scrooge – Seto Kaiba  
> Nephew Fred – Mokuba Kaiba  
> Bob – Yugi Muto  
> Tiny Tim – “Little” Kuriboh (as a human, but still speaks like the Duel Monster)  
> The Ghost Of Christmas Past – Yami Yugi  
> The Ghost Of Christmas Present – Yami Marik  
> The Ghost Of Christmas Future – Yami Bakura w/ Ryou  
> Jacob Marley – Gozaburo Kaiba  
> Fezziwig – Pegasus  
> Belle – Joey Wheeler  
> Mrs Cratchit – Téa Gardner  
> Cratchit Kids – Ishizu, Odeon, Marik  
> Fan – Noah Kaiba  
> Belle’s Husband – Mai Valentine  
> Joe & The Woman – Rex & Weevil (but as card traders)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158446089@N03/36746588562/in/photostream/)

Kaiba was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt about that. Old Gozaburo Kaiba was as dead as a doornail.

Seto knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? He was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole son, and his sole mourner. Actually, I lied about those last two things. This story is, after all, a parody, so please allow me to take a little creative licensing from the original tale.

In life, Gozaburo actually had  _ two _ sons, and I couldn’t say rightly that either mourned his passing. Neither cried, nor sulked in the slightest. They weren’t happy to learn of his death, but they weren’t sad about it either.

There is  _ definitely  _ no doubt that Gozaburo Kaiba was dead – despite what the Virtual World arc may have you believe. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.

Seto never painted out old Kaiba’s name, mostly because it was the same as his own. There it stood at the very top of the tallest building in Domino: Kaiba Corporation. The most well-known gaming company to ever cater almost exclusively to one fad and still somehow make billions a year, thanks to the astute leadership skills of its president and CEO. 

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand to the grindstone, Seto! A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! Hard and sharp as a flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret and self-contained, as solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his features, and probably accounted for that ridiculously impractical long coat he wears all year round for some reason. And this cold temperature he carried with him didn’t thaw one degree at Christmas. 

It was the eve of the day, and Seto sat busy in his office. The door was open, and he could just make out his spiky-haired clerk typing away at his computer. When the clock struck six, and not a minute beforehand, Yugi Muto got to his feet and happily collected his things to prepare for the long trek home. 

“A merry Christmas to you!” cried a cheerful voice. It belonged to the little brother alluded to several paragraphs ago. 

Before Yugi could return the sentiment, the CEO spoke up. “Bah!” he said. “Humbug!” 

“Christmas a humbug, brother!” said young Mokuba. “I don’t know what a humbug is, but I am sure you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Seto insisted.

“Don’t be cross, Seto.”

“What else can I be, when I live in such a world of fools as this? What is Christmas but a time for financial loss; of paying bills and finding yourself a year older and not an hour richer? If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with Merry Christmas on his lips, would be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a Sword of Revealing Light through his heart.”

“Brother, I know you don’t like Christmas, but please leave pudding out of this.” Mokuba took a deep breath and continued speaking. “Christmas is a kind, forgiving, charitable and pleasant time; and though it’s never put a cent in my pocket, I believe that Christmas  _ has _ done me good, and  _ will _ do me good, and I am glad it exists!”

Yugi, who was pretending to not hear this conversation, blew his cover then by involuntarily applauding. He caught himself suddenly and continued his pack-up by shutting down the computer.

He’d only gotten so far when someone approached his desk, asking for Kaiba. The lunatic gestured towards the open office door, and into the room stepped a man Seto was far from pleased to see.

“Mr Kaiba,” he said cordially, and Seto looked up to see a name tag that identified the man as one, Tristan Taylor. “At this festive season of the year, it is desirable that we should bear in mind the poor and destitute. There are many in want of common necessities, and as such, there are those of us endeavouring to raise a fund for these people. Therefore, we take it upon ourselves to ask men of your financial standing to assist by offering a small donation, in the spirit of the holiday. What shall I put you down for?”

“Nothing,” said Seto.

“You wish to remain anonymous?” asked Tristan.

“I wish to be left alone,” answered Seto. “I do not make merry myself at Christmas-” (that much was true.) “-And I cannot afford to make idle people merry.” (That much was  _ not _ true.) “I know how to treat the poor. My taxes help pay for shelters and halfway homes. If the poor are in need of food or sanctuary, they must go there, Christmas or not.”

“Oh, no, you misunderstand!” the man said jovially. “I said we were raising funds for common  _ necessities _ , sir. In this case, Duel Monsters booster packs. Would you believe that one in five kids don’t own  _ any _ cards at all? Not even a basic polymerisation.”

“Oh, Seto, help them!” Mokuba cried out. 

“Quiet!” Seto ordered, before redirecting his attention back to Tristan. “If they cannot afford trading cards, then they should go without.”

“But some would rather die!” answered the horrified man.

“If they would rather die, they’d better do it, and decrease the surplus population! Good afternoon!” 

Seeing that it was useless to pursue the point, Tristan withdrew; after which, Seto turned to his clerk. “I suppose you’ll want the whole day tomorrow.”

“If you don’t mind, sir,” Yugi answered.

“But I do,” Seto retorted. “Christmas…family…friends…tradition…all poor excuses for picking a man’s pocket every year. You ought to keep your mind on more important matters, like videogames and trading cards. But as I seem to be the only one in the God-forsaken town who knows this-” he sighed. “Take the day off, but be here all the earlier the next day.”

The clerk promised he would, and Seto stormed out with a growl, his little brother in tow. Outside, Yugi headed in the opposite direction; while Seto and Mokuba walked towards one of their many fancy cars, Yugi turned his coat up against a cold breeze and took the familiar path home.


	2. Kaiba's Ghost

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158446089@N03/36746588562/in/photostream/)

Seto parked his car in the large driveway of his home – please don’t ask this narrator what a canonically under-18 year old is doing driving around Japan; if it worked for the writers in season 4, it can work for me too – and headed straight to the front door. In accordance with the way young kids are when they’re tired, Mokuba was much more sluggish, meaning it would be nearly a full minute before he caught up with his brother.

Seto approached the enormous, almost foreboding entryway, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by the most insignificant of objects – a doorknocker.

Now, it is a fact that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker, except that it was very large. Let it also be borne in mind that Gozaburo Kaiba was well and truly dead, and Seto had not bestowed a thought upon the man since the latest mention of him, several days prior. And then let anyone explain to me, if they can, how it happened that Seto, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without it undergoing any intermediate process of change: not a knocker, but Gozaburo’s face.

Gozaburo’s face! It was not angry or ferocious as Seto was used to seeing it, and therefore he almost missed recognising it altogether. It was expressionless, its eyes motionless.

Seto was a stubborn man and refused to look away; and so as he stared pointedly at the phenomenon, it morphed into a knocker again.

To say that he was not startled would be untrue. But the moment had passed, and he had no apparent reason to think any further of the incident, especially with his brother on his tail, babbling something about dinner. So he put his hand again on the key he had relinquished beforehand, turned it sturdily, walked in and switched on the light. Once inside, he slammed the door with a force that startled the younger Kaiba; but the child spoke nothing of it.

After a quick meal, Seto didn’t have the patience to hear talk of Christmas cheer and plans for the next day, so he sent his brother on his way to bed. The incident at the door, as impractical as the thought was, still haunted him. So up the dim stairway he went, caring not a button for the darkness. Darkness is cheap, and Seto liked it. But before he shut himself in for the night, he walked through the rooms of the extravagant mansion to see that all was right, which it seemed to be. So then he busied himself with further work in the following couple of hours, before setting that aside in favour of readying himself for bed.

As he settled comfortably on the edge of his mattress, his glance happened to rest upon a disused bell, for which there is no modern day reason to exist in a bedroom; not now that intercoms and mobile communication are so commonplace. But if you’re reading this story, surely you must realise this is a fandom-based retelling of a classic tale with a modern twist, and therefore ought to know that not all plot points make sense in a current setting. So ask not why Seto Kaiba had a random bell in his room; instead understand that it rang; softly at first, but as it swung harder, the noise grew louder.

This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed like an hour. But then it ceased suddenly. It was then succeeded by a harsh scraping noise down below, as if some person were dragging a heavy chain along the ground. Seto then remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains.

Several doors downstairs flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder, coming up the stairs and straight towards his door.

“I won’t believe it,” Seto declared to nobody in particular. His colour changed though, when without a pause, _it_ came in through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes.

It was _his_ face; the very same. Gozaburo in his usual business attire, with one terrifying added accessory. The chain was clasped around his middle and wound about him; and it was made of cashboxes and keys, padlocks and deeds, ledgers and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent, so Seto could see right through him, only in a more literal way than in life.

Seto had often heard it said that Gozaburo had no heart, but he could see it for himself now.

And even now, he _refused_ to see it. He looked at the phantom, still incredulous, and fought against his senses.

“What do you want with me?” he demanded, caustic and cold as ever.                                         

“Much!” –Gozaburo’s voice, no doubt about it.

“I don’t believe in you,” Seto stated simply.

“Why do you doubt your senses?” asked the spectre.

“Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. There’s more of a monstrous illusion than Monster Reborn about you, whatever you are!”

Seto wasn’t much in the habit of making jokes, nor did he feel frivolous in that moment. The truth is, he was trying to be smart in order to draw his attention away from the terror seeing this ghost caused him.

Gozaburo spoke again. “You would be smart to heed the warning I bring – and I raised you to no end if not to be smart.” At that, the ghost let out a frightful cry and shook his chains, so loud and disturbing that Seto’s hands flew to cover his ears.

After a moment of heavy breathing, Seto slowly dropped his hands and resumed his stare. “Those chains,” he observed, allowing the question to ask itself.

“I wear the chain I forged in life,” Gozaburo answered mournfully. “Oh, captive bound and double-ironed, forever confined by the weight of my own misdeeds! No heat nor metal went in the creation of this chain; it was woven by my greed, my unkindness, by every selfish act I ever committed. You, son, wear such a chain yourself!”

“I see,” Seto answered thoughtfully. “So you came to warn me to change my ways, lest I fall victim to the same fate.”

“Not really,” the ghost replied. “I didn’t want to be here, but the plot called for it. Personally, I couldn’t care less if you spent all of eternity in a hell of your own making, never to interact with another, never to engage in the joys of the world, never to play another card game-”

Seto was undeterred until this last point. “Speak comfort to me, father!”

“I have none to give,” Gozaburo answered. “Only this message: you will be haunted by three spirits.”

“I think I’ve had rather enough of that,” he snapped.

“Without their visit, you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls one.”

“Can’t I take them all at once and have it over with?”

“Look to see me no more,” he went on, and ignored his son when he made a remark along the lines of, “ _Good, I won’t._ ” Then he walked backwards from him toward an open window, and floated out upon the bleak, dark night. Seto closed the window after him and, exhausted from the incident and not perfectly willing to admit to it at all, went straight to sleep.


	3. The First Of The Spirits

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158446089@N03/36746588562/in/photostream/)

When Seto awoke, it was so dark that he could scarcely distinguish his surroundings. He looked at his alarm clock, and to his great astonishment, the device declared it to be twelve.

Twelve! Unlikely! It had been past two when he went to bed! It wasn’t possible that he slept through a whole day and into the next night, nor was it possible that anything had happened to the sun, making it dark at noon.

The only reasonable conclusion was that the blasted thing was broken. But as he reached for his phone, which was tuned to a KaibaCorp satellite, and blinked through the blinding backlight, he saw that it was not the case.

Seto sat in his bed and thought and thought; and the more he thought, the less he could make of it. He had no choice but to conclude that the whole ordeal had been some kind of dream; although for reasons he could not (or would not) identify, he had a hard time believing it.

Then again, there was a way to know for sure. 

He eyed his clock suspiciously.

A quarter past…

Half past…

A quarter to…

The hour itself! And nothing else! Seto laughed triumphantly; but no sooner than he had did the room light up and the bedcurtains fly open.

They were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand; the very curtains he faced and no other. Seto found himself confronted with the unearthly visitor; an ethereal being with perfectly-coiffed hair.

It was a strange figure – resembling someone Seto knew, but who he could not place. He stood tall and confidently, like perhaps a great King of old; a lord of a mighty empire, like Egypt or some grand medieval world filled with dungeons and dragons. Hey, that was a good idea; he resolved to write that one down later…

“I am the spirit whose coming was foretold to you,” he explained in a deep, otherworldly voice.

“Who and what are you?”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

Seto shifted on the sheets. “You’re shorter than I expected.”

“Look, do you want my help or not?” The spirit questioned impatiently.

“Frankly, no, but it seems I have no choice. What brings you here, O spirit?”

“Your welfare,” he answered.

Seto scoffed. “A night’s unbroken rest may aid my welfare.”

“Your influence then,” and Seto at once fell silent. “Rise and walk with me, Kaiba!”

It would have been in vain for Seto to plead that the weather and the hour were unsuited to pedestrian purposes; that the bed was warm and the temperature was below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in his nightclothes and deep sapphire dressing gown, and his blue dragon-shaped slippers. The spirit would not be resisted; a feeling he could not deny and a thought that would undoubtedly spawn all kinds of meta and fanfiction, and art that one saves to a hidden folder and looks at only when one is alone, in a dim, LCD-lit room for fear of judgement. But fortunately for Seto, that fate awaited only fictional characters and figments of the imaginations of very creative albeit very maniacal people. He thanked his stars that his life was real as real could be, and that this tale was not the brainchild of some 22-year-old Australian girl with nothing better to do apparently.

So he rose: but on finding the spirit lead him towards the window, he dragged his fashionably-clad feet.

“I am mortal,” Seto remonstrated, “and liable to fall.”

“But a touch of my hand _there_ , and you shall fly.” At the italicized word, the Spirit put his hand over the pyramid-shaped pendant around his neck, which began to glow, brighter and brighter until it lit up the entire room. 

Seto did as instructed and the spirit lead him out the second-story window; and it was with both relief and shock that Seto found his companion spoke the truth. For he did fly: over his own lawn and up toward the sky. From here, he could see all of Domino; the great city dominated by the magisterial marvel that was KaibaCorp HQ.

Seto clung to the spirit’s hand as they flew through the night air, and he scarcely knew where to look; at the stars above, or the town below. But as he struggled to make up his mind, both disappeared; fading from view until not a vestige of it all was to be seen. In its place was now another place; one all too familiar to the teen.

“Good Gaia!” Seto vociferated in spite of himself. He’d planned to keep his demeanour as cool as the wind that had been rustling through his hair seconds ago, but that resolution was quickly forgotten. “I know where we are! I grew up here!”


	4. Christmas Past

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158446089@N03/36746588562/in/photostream/)

If the metaphor about familiarity ringing bells had any literal merit, then Seto would have stood before a cathedral. But it was not a cathedral he faced, no; it was an orphanage.

The Spirit gazed at him mildly as he took in the sight. Seto was conscious of a thousand odours, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long forgotten! And one or two stray cats that used to think the lazily-tended garden was its own litter box.

“You lip is trembling,” observed the Spirit. “And what is that upon your cheek?”

“I have something in my eye,” Seto mumbled, hurrying to cover up the spontaneous display of emotion.

“Yes,” agreed the Spirit. “Tears. You recall the way?”

“Recall? I could walk this place blindfolded.” Seto made his way up the path, recognising every sight around him; every cheerful child, every stern adult; every post and pillar and brick; and the window he came to, on the other side of which was a miserably decorated room, and two children seated at either end of a table, a nearly-won chess match between them.

And how could he not recognise them! Seto’s eyes beheld a sight that warmed him in ways he hadn’t been warmed in what felt like forever. No, scratch that – that was only the sun peeking through the threadbare pergola that ran around the side of the building. No matter; it was a beautiful sight nonetheless; for the children were none other than Seto himself and his little – littler then – brother.

Seto had a sudden urge to burst into the room and speak to the boys, but as if reading his mind, the spirit intervened.

“These are but shadows, Kaiba. They have no consciousness of us.”

So all he could do was watch.

“Checkmate!” said past Seto. “Sorry, Mokie. Looks like I win again.”

The smaller brother was only momentarily dejected. “Wow, Seto! You’re, like, the best chess-player in the whole world!”

“Nah, that isn’t true,” answered the younger older brother.

“Oh, really? Name one person who’s better than you!”

“You, if you just concentrate! Let’s set up and play again.”

While Seto stared pointedly at the scene, the Spirit stared pointedly at him.

“At the time, you thought your life unsurvivably arduous, did you not? And now here you are years later, longing for the days when it was just you and he; when being an orphan was the most of your worries, not the least. Then something happened that for all intents and purposes should have made your life easier. Instead, it put it on the path to becoming what it is today.”

“I was adopted,” Seto confirmed; and no sooner than he did, did he hear a voice behind him. A deep, angry voice that sent chills up his spine.

“…And I don’t want any of these brats touching me.” It was him. It was Gozaburo Kaiba.

“But not at Christmas,” Seto corrected, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Oh, for the love of Ra, will you just let the narrative do its job?” the Spirit demanded with a roll of his eyes; and so Seto did. He watched the fateful match unfold; he saw his younger self lay down the challenge, and observed as Gozaburo ate it up like the fool he was. As he watched his former self make move after move, he noticed something new about the event that he’d never known about before; he watched his Mokuba, who then he’d had no time to notice, stand silently at his big brother’s side; nervous but never wavering. He always did have an absurd amount of faith in him.

And that faith was rewarded as Seto’s childhood image announced: “Checkmate! You lose! Now you have to adopt us, just like you promised!”

“You remember, of course, what happened next?” the Spirit affirmed; and as he did, the orphanage faded away, and in its stead was a much grander setting; the home of what was to remain of Seto’s childhood.

There was no chessboard; no decorations, not even meagre ones. There was but a large room, and the shadow of Seto’s younger self, pacing restlessly.

And then there was another little boy; roughly the same age as Seto, who came darting in and put his arms around him, addressing him as “Dear, dear brother!”

“I have come with news, dear brother!” said Noah, clapping his hands excitedly. Seto was about to remark that he in truth never had the pleasure of meeting his adoptive brother until Season 3, but a glare from the spirit put him in his place.

“News, Noah?” returned young Seto.

“Yes!” said the child, brimful of glee. “A celebration! Father is kinder today than he used to be! He spoke so gently to me, I was not afraid to ask again if we might have a tree; and he said yes! So long as we three pick it ourselves, and decorate it ourselves, we could have a real Christmas!”

“Really?” Seto asked of his brother.

“Yes!” He returned, and rushed over as Mokuba came into the room, hugging him delightedly and relaying the news.

“I wish,” Seto muttered, putting his hands in his pockets and looking about him; anywhere but at the happy scene laid out. “But it’s too late now?”

“What is the matter?” asked the Spirit.

“Nothing,” answered Seto. “Nothing. It’s only…my brother wanted to decorate my office for the holiday, and I told him no. I should like to have given him the chance, that’s all.”

The ghost smiled thoughtfully and waved his hand; and as he did so, said: “Let us see another Christmas!”

The room and the children faded from view, and around them now Seto saw the thoroughfares of a city; where people scurried about their business, and though it was nighttime, the streets were brightly lit. It was apparent by the tinsel and lights in all the windows that it was Christmas time here, too.

The spirit bought Seto to a stop before a certain warehouse door; and asked Seto if he knew it.

“Know it! I was apprenticed here!”

They walked in below the large sign over the door – Industrial Illusions, it said. And in the large space inside was brightly-coloured ornaments strewn here and there, so the place was as beautifully adorned as one would expect from the man himself.

And there he was – without a doubt, Seto would know that white hair and red suit anywhere. No, not that white hair and red suit…   

“Why, it’s old Pegasus!”

“You there!” called Pegasus. “Kaiba-boy!” And for a moment, Seto thought that perhaps the Spirit had been wrong that the shadows of his past had no knowledge of them. But then, walking unknowingly right through his future self, came yet another vision of Seto from long ago.

“There will be no more work tonight!” declared Pegasus. “It’s Christmas! Let’s have up with the shutters and out with the gorgonzola cheese and the world’s finest wine!”

At the time, Industrial Illusions was well-known for its magnificent Christmas parties. Extravagant was the word so commonly put to them; and Seto remembered them all. A wonderful way to end another stressful, work-filled year. The memories of these parties were some of the happiest those in the room that had begun to fill up would ever retain.

Seto watched the festivities. There was dancing and music and games, of course; and not a single wallflower, as even the most introverted of honoured guests was seduced into the hoopla.

“What a waste,” remarked the spirit mournfully.

“What, now?”

“The lengths to which Pegasus went to please his employees and associates,” the Spirit clarified. “He spent a couple hundred thousand of your Earthly yen, and for what? A sorry waste that would’ve been better put back to business, wouldn’t you say?

If the Spirit had said it about anybody else, Seto may have concurred. But these parties, he’d defend to his dying breath. “He had the power to render us happy or unhappy. To make our work light or burdensome. He chose the former. And the happiness he gave us in these times, is as great as any fortune he spent doing so!”

He felt the Spirit’s glance, and stopped.

“What is it?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Nothing…or something?”

“No,” said Seto. “No, it’s just…I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That’s all!”

Seto’s stared down his former self as the Spirit then said; “Come. My time grows short.”

The scene around him began anew as the pendant glowed once more, in another place and time. Only now he sat with a beautiful young woman. She had bright eyes and soft blonde hair, and did Seto ever remember her well.

“Josephine,” said the shadow of his former self gently. “Do not be unhappy.”

“’What else can I be,” she answered; “In a stupid outfit like this. You’re seriously telling me all the good roles are taken?”

“Just get on with it,” commanded the Spirit.

“Fine, fine.” And from then on, Josephine spoke in a higher-pitched voice. “What else can I be like this?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You used to be such a gentle soul,” she reminisced. “But business has corrupted you.”

“I’m only trying to build a life for us,” Seto pleaded, but Josephine just shook her head.

“You aren’t building a life I want. Where I don’t see you for days on end while you work; where, when I do see you, you are so cold and indifferent. I thought we would grow old together, but it seems we only grew apart.”

There was nothing Seto could say that would appease the woman. At length, she stood and walked away from the conversation: the last they would ever have.

“Spirit,” said Seto, “No more! Take me home, I do not wish to see more.”

But against his pleading, the Spirit insisted that there was one shadow left to see. The pyramid pendant again lit up; and they were in yet another place, another time, yet another room. And there sat dear Josephine, in her chair by the fireplace.

The door opened, and in stepped Josephine’s new spouse, another beautiful blonde with long hair which sat in a neat ponytail. “I saw an old friend of yours.”

“Who was it, Mai, darling?” Josephine asked. (Or perhaps she said “My Darling”. Are genderswaps funny anymore?)

“Guess.”

“How can I?” Josephine laughed. “Don’t tell me. Was it – Mister Kaiba?”

“Mister Kaiba indeed! His father is on the point of death; and yet there he sat, quite alone in the world, I do believe! It seems money is not enough to keep one company after all!”

“Spirit,” Seto implored once more in a broken voice. “Take me away. I cannot bear this. How can you make me?”

“This isn’t of my doing, Kaiba,” explained the Spirit. “These are the shadows of your past. These are the events your choices shaped.”

He didn’t want to see that hellish pendant glow again. He didn’t want to see another place or time. He slipped off his robe, using it to attempt to smother the light from the triangular structure. In the struggle – if it could even be called that – the Spirit made no attempt to fight back. And so once the light had been extinguished from the room he disappeared. Seto fell, landing – lo and behold! – in his very own bed.

Exhausted and overcome, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him. All would be better in the morning. At least, that was what he told himself.


	5. The Second Of The Spirits

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158446089@N03/36746588562/in/photostream/)

Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore and sitting up abruptly, Seto had no need to be told the hour was again approaching the stroke of one. His clock did that for him, and he felt as if he’d woken in the nick of time to meet the second Spirit.

The thought of not knowing which of his curtains would be drawn aside next made him uneasy, so slipping on his dressing gown once more, he opened every single one and kept a vigilant lookout, not caring to be taken by surprise.   

A million possibilities of what this spectre may be crossed Seto’s mind. He was so busy preparing for anything and everything, he never thought to prepare for nothing. So when the hour ticked over and nothing happened, Seto was taken with the suspense of it all. Perhaps he should’ve dismissed the whole occasion as a wacky, wacky dream and drifted again to sleep, but his nerves wouldn’t allow for it.

Time continued to pass. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour and more. He sat on his bed all the while, until the hour finally came.

At first, Seto couldn’t fathom the light that slipped into his room from under the door. Perhaps Mokuba had walked past and turned the hall light on? No, the incandescent bulb in the fitting was much too dim for that to be the case. Acting as soon as he realised, Seto rushed to the doorway, and upon touching the knob, heard an unfamiliar voice speak a single word: “Enter.”

Seto opened the door to find that the warm glow came not from the hallway as such, but from the adjacent room, which existed directly across from his own. It was wide open and inviting, despite Seto’s certainty that he’d shut it up before.

The room itself wasn’t as he left it in more ways than just that. Generally, it was kept as a rather bland and impersonal guest room. But now it was lively, with red and green strewn around the place. A tree stood in the center of the room, decorated with small Duel Monsters ornaments, and a Blue-Eyes perched proudly on top. Underneath was an abundance of gifts of all shapes and sizes, wrapped in brightly coloured paper, cellophane, ribbons and topped with bows.

Near the tree was a long table that could’ve easily sat many. It was piled high with the grandest holiday feast Seto had ever seen, complete with dozens of desserts. Oh, if Christmas itself looked like anything, it was this very room!

Pushed up against the table were several chairs; and in the grandest, which was placed appropriately at the head of the table, sat a figure.  

He had unruly blond hair and better eyeliner than any woman Seto ever laid eyes on. Something about his expression was a little off-putting; that grin could only be described as sadistic. Seto wouldn’t have been surprised to learn this spirit had murdered his own father or committed various forms of assault or something.

“Come in!” he invited; “And know me better, man!”

Seto entered timidly.

“I am the ghost of Christmas present,” he disclosed joyfully.

“I thought as much.”

“Look at me.” And so Seto did.

“Whatever you have to teach me,” he promised, “I will learn.”

“Ah,” answered the Spirit. “Who give a damn if you do or don’t? I get paid for this cameo either way.” (Author’s Note: He’s not getting paid, he just doesn’t know it yet.) “Now, touch my rod.”

Before Seto could remind the Spirit that this was a family story, Christmas Present held out a thin, gold item to Seto, which he took a hold of. At once the room vanished, the festive colour being replaced by duller hues. But the people he saw were anything but dull.

For now they stood on a street; invisible as he had been with the last Spirit. Business were closed, boarded up for the holiday. And yet Seto had never seen the place so alive. Citizens bustled back and forth, stopping to greet one another and bestow their best wishes for the season.  

“I had no idea people were so busy on days like this!” Seto exclaimed. “Where there is nothing to see but one another!”

“Not everything revolves around business,” answered the Spirit, twirling his rod between his fingers. “Look, I’d like to let you look around, but there’s a formula to these things that I’d prefer to get through sooner rather than later. Next stop – the Shadow Realm!”

_No, Yami Marik. No._

“Ugh, fine. The Mutos’ it is.”


	6. Christmas Present

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158446089@N03/36746588562/in/photostream/)

I’d like to say it was the Spirit’s own kind, generous, hearty nature and his sympathy for all poor men that led him straight to Seto’s clerk’s. But considering the Spirit’s maniacal, psychopathic personality, it’s far more likely that they stood before the small but well-maintained home simply because I, the author, called for it.

Seto peered in through the window at the family within. A content-looking brunette woman set the table and called to her three children, who came running into the room upon hearing their names.

“Marik! Ishizu! Odeon! Darlings, come into the dining room! Your father will be home any second.”

The children giggled and rejoiced as children often do, and in the meantime, Seto looked to the Spirit. “Aren’t you going to offer some kind of commentary?”

“Nah,” answered the Spirit, leaving Seto to deduce what he was to learn from the scene by himself. A meal, if it could be called that, was laid out on the table in anticipation for Yugi’s return.

And then from behind them, Seto heard a most joyous sound; the sound of singing…with what seemed like some kind of squeaking joining it.

And in through the front door cheerfully stepped Yugi Muto himself, with his and Téa’s youngest on his back.

“Here we are, little Kuriboh! Home at last!”

“Kuree-kuree!” chirped Kuriboh.

They walked into the home, and were greeted with hugs and kisses from the whole family. Then while the children hurried to claim their seats at the table, Yugi took a moment to embrace his wife.

“You know,” murmured the Spirit, “Christmas Past wanted my role for this very reason.”

Seto didn’t understand what he meant; and less did he understand the scene unfolding in that tiny house.

“Such a miniscule feast,” he muttered; “But deeply appreciated. I think I understand the point, Spirit. I pay Yugi such a small amount; and yet he is happier here than my riches have ever made me.”

The Spirit, who was leaning against the wall with his leg propped up behind him, paying very little attention, just shrugged.

“Mister Kaiba!” declared Yugi.

Seto, so surprised at hearing his own name, dared to step closer to the table – only to pass right through the wall and into the room with the family.

“It’s only right that we raise our glasses to Mister Kaiba, the founder of the feast!”

“The founder of the feast, indeed,” huffed Téa. “Why, if he was here, I would give him a piece of my mind!”

“My dear,” said Yugi timidly. “The children. Christmas Day…”

Téa sighed. “I suppose in the spirit of the day, we must drink to Mister Kaiba. Even though he is rude, and arrogant, and selfish, and stingy, and unfeeling, and has that ridiculous mullet-thing going—”

“My dear,” Yugi repeated. “Christmas Day.”

“Kureeee!” chimed in Kuriboh, raising his own cup high into the air.

Téa sighed. “To Mister Kaiba, who will be very merry and happy this day. Long life to him.”

The sentiment was weakly echoed by all except Yugi and Kuriboh who were much heartier as they all drank unknowingly to their spectator.

Seto was bewildered. Yugi was well within his right to hate him for making his job and his life so hard; and yet, even when he was in (assumingly) no danger of being overheard by his boss, he still extended such warmth and kindness.

Seto himself was well-off; everyone knew that. He had money enough to heat his house through the coldest winter to the temperature of a sauna if he so wished; and yet this place was warmer still, but a different kind of warm. There was so much love and joy and appreciation for one another under this roof; and though they didn’t have the best of everything, they were content with one another. They had enough.

But there was a dark cloud over this sunny family. Their youngest, the little brown-haired boy with the unusual pattern of speaking; every so often he would turn away from the table and cough. Not the kind of cough that came with a winter’s cold, either. His parents would rush to his side to comfort him, and his siblings would exchange worried glances. He was so pale and frail and sickly-looking, Seto had to fear for him. He couldn’t rightly say why. The child had that quality about him that made one certain to care: and Seto put it down to the fact that he was, in many ways, just like Mokuba, who was also small and kind of fluffy.

“Spirit.” Seto had to work up the courage to ask the question he was afraid to hear the answer to. “Tell me - will little Kuriboh live?

“Heck if I know,” answered the Spirit, who earned himself an admonishing glare from his charge. “Ok, fine. Fine. At the rate you’re going, he has about as much of a chance surviving the near future as a side character has of beating the protagonist in any given anime.”

“The rate I’m going?” Seto echoed. “Why is the boy’s illness on my shoulders?”

“Have you tried getting healthcare in his economy?”

“But--” Seto began to argue, before cutting himself off with a sigh.

“What is it?”

“I just…I should like to see my brother right now, is all.”

“And I should like to see my perfect behind on the world’s throne, so why don’t we make like the Pharaoh in the series finale and depart, leaving you distraught and emotionally scarred, shall we?”

The Spirit’s golden rod lit up as it did before and the family faded from view. Seto kept his eyes on little Kuriboh until the very last second.

“Spirit, why are we here now?” Seto asked as another location appeared before them. It was a place he knew; a place he’d actually been in not too long ago. His own house.

“You said you wanted to see your brother,” Christmas Present reminded him, gesturing to Mokuba’s doorway.

Seto peered in through the door, noticing at once how festive the bedroom looked. Sure Seto had forbade his brother to decorate the rest of the house, but his room was his own, leaving the child free to do as he wished.

Apparently what he wished on this day was to make a mess with tinsel and coloured paper, and invite those kids he called friends over. A gang of nameless brats who looked up to Mokuba like he was some kind of hero.

“Let’s play a game, Mokuba!” one of them said brightly.

The suggestion was met with cries of, “A game! A game!”

“How about capsule monsters?” one of them proposed.

“Nah, that’s so Season Zero.” Mokuba tapped his foot in thought, reaching a decision within seconds. “I got it! Let’s play Yes And No. I’ll go first!”

The other boys agreed to this, and Mokuba cleared his throat.

“Alright, I’ve thought of something. You need to guess what I am.”

And so the boys did try to guess, falling so far short of the mark every time.

“Give us a hint!” they pressed at length.

“Alright, then. Let’s see. I’m tall; I have brown hair, a younger sibling, and an extreme God complex. Despite being a jerk, fangirls love me for some reason. I have an arch-rival with iconically crazy hair. My ego is approximately three times the size of this very planet, and I’m a little obsessed with the power of a certain spirit that seems to be wherever I am at all times.”

“LIGHT YAGAMI!” the boys all shouted at once.

“....No.”

“Oh. Then another hint, please!”

“Ah...oh! If I could be a dragon, I would be.”

“I know what it is! I know what it is! I know who you are!” declared one of Mokuba’s friends.

“Who, then?”

“You’re Seto Kaiba, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Mokuba answered gleefully, raising his cup high in the air. “I only wish Seto would have joined us today, but he said he had work to do.” The boy’s expression fell a little, and he brought his cup down to drink from it, refusing to meet his friends’ eyes.

“Does...does he really miss me so much when I work?” Seto asked quietly.

“I think he’s missed you for a long time,” answered the Spirit. “Anyway, it’s time to move on now. Come.”

Seto put his hand onto the Spirit’s rod, and once more their surroundings faded away. But this time, nothing replaced them. Nothing but darkness, but emptiness.

Seto looked questioningly at the Spirit, noticing then how worn and decrepit he seemed.

“Are you alright?”

“My time is nearly up,” he answered shortly.

“Are spirits’ lives so short?” asked Seto.

“Very,” confirmed Christmas Present. “I was only in the anime regularly for less than two seasons.”

From somewhere Seto couldn’t identify, a clock began to strike. One, two...all the way to twelve. Before the Spirit faded altogether though, he called out his parting remark.

“I leave you with the Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come. Go forth, and know him better, man! Is-is that it now? Am I done? Can I leave-?” 


	7. The Third Of The Spirits

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158446089@N03/36746588562/in/photostream/)

As The Ghost Of Christmas Present vanished, Seto found his own room gradually returning to his sight. With a heavy heart, and heavier limbs, he collapsed onto the sheets and sighed.

How was he to know that his brother was so lonely? That his clerk was so destitute? That his clerk’s son was so ill? The answer was simple: all he had to do was pay attention. But he hadn’t been. Seto hadn’t payed attention to anything outside of his company in a long, long, time, he knew that.

But it couldn’t be _that_ bad. Nobody ever died from one guy kind of being a jerk...right?

...

Nah, that was ridiculous.

Seto set up and looked around the room, knowing that the third and final Spirit would appear any second. So far, each of the phantoms had surpassed any expectations the CEO laid out, and therefore this time, he resolved to make no assumptions.

That was when he saw it; that ominous hooded figure standing in the shadowy corner of his room. It moved closer and closer, carrying with it an air of gloom and mystery.

Seto could not see under that dark cloak. He had no idea what fate awaited him from this terrifying presence. The Spirit reached up to remove the hood and the young CEO gulped, fearful of the face he would soon see--

“Let’s get this over with,” the Spirit said with something like a groan. Now that the hood was down, he actually didn’t look quite as horrifying as Seto thought he would be. His hair was wild and as white as, well, a ghost; and his expression was one of utter boredom. He looked more like a Spirit than any Spirit before him.

“Honestly, what manner of depraved, sick individual would dare tarnish my character with this pathetic little fable? I was once a serious villain, capable of striking fear into the hearts of fans of all ages!”

“When?” asked Seto, who recalled no such time.

“Now,” the Spirit went on as if it never heard him, “It’s all British jokes and Thiefshipping, whatever that even is.”

“Spirit, I hate to ask,” Seto interrupted; “But what is that upon your back?”

The cloak did not fall as smoothly as it should have behind him, and Seto had to wonder what was hidden away there. The Spirit unbuttoned the clasp and the dark fabric fell away, and the first thing Seto’s eyes were drawn to was the golden ring which hung around his neck.

He was so busy staring at that, that he took a moment to notice the boy stepping out from behind him.

“It’s only my pet,” the Spirit answered. “He’s here because I hate exposition, and frankly, the fangirls would never forgive his absence.”

“I’m Ryou!” he introduced brightly.

“So, I am definitely in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?” Seto confirmed meekly, to which the Spirit would only nod. “You are about to show me the shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,” Seto pursued. “Is that so, Spirit?”

Again, the unearthly visitor nodded.

Although he was well used to ghostly happenings by now, Seto felt a heavy weight in his gut, like he wasn’t altogether sure he wanted to see what he was about to. But of course, he hadn’t much of a choice. So it was with shaking legs and a rapidly beating heart that Seto rose to his feet, standing unsteadily.

“Lead on,” he encouraged. “Lead on. I know, time grows short and every second is precious to me.”

No sooner than Seto had laid out that invitation did the Spirit’s own item begin to glow, illuminating the night and rearranging their surroundings.

“Don’t be afraid,” encouraged the more softspoken of the pair, but it didn’t put him much at ease, as his bedroom disappeared for the final time.


	8. Christmas Yet To Come

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158446089@N03/36746588562/in/photostream/)

When the city came into view around him, Seto expected some kind of Christmas-themed our; to be taken to see the joys and wonders of this time of year. Domino was an exciting, vibrant city with many, many beautiful things to see, after all.

So when the Spirit and his companion steered Seto into a dirty alley, he wasn’t entirely certain that he hadn’t been brought to another place altogether. How was it somewhere so low-class, so befitting of another world altogether, existed in the same city as his grand office building?

They came upon two people sitting together swapping Duel Monsters cards. One had green hair and thick yellow glasses; the other, a red beanie and dual-coloured locks. They seemed to be deep in conversation.

“Dead,” the green-haired one - a duelist Seto recignised as Weevil - was saying. “Kapoot. Destroyed. Torn to pieces. No longer in this world. _Gone_.”

“How did it happen?” Rex asked curiously.

“Who knows?” said the first with a yawn. “But I hear a certain brother had one heck of a breakdown afterward. Tossed all his cards out a window. But luckily, yours truly found them.”

“No way!” this seemed to excite the other. “Where?”

Weevil returned his cards to their holder and gestured for Rex to follow him. They headed through a back door into some kind of sitting room, and Weevil pulled a familiar-looking briefcase from under a sofa.

“I hid them well. Now they’re all ours!”

After he placed the case onto a table, the two gathered around, grinning greedily as they opened a latch each.

Seto couldn’t see the cards within, and therefore couldn’t confirm the suspicions rising in his mind. However, as the two continued to speak, he grew more and more concerned.

“I’ll take this one!” Rex declared. “The Battle Ox isn’t quite a dinosaur, but it is similar, and I think it’ll make a fine addition to my deck.”

“I want his Crush Card virus,” Weevil said, taking the card from the case, and adding it to his own deck. “Oh! Also, it’s always good to have a Monster Reborn in the mix, too.”

“Ew, a Mystic Horseman? Who would even use something like this?” Rex tossed the card across the room, but seconds later, seemed to think better of his actions.

On and on this went, the two scavengers selecting cards from the case and swapping and choosing and occasionally bickering over who got what. The more they did, the more worried Seto became. Because whoever this unfortunate deceased duelist whose former deck was currently being ravaged was, their cards were eerily similar to Seto’s own. But, no, it _couldn’t_ be. Besides, neither made any mention of Seto’s most powerful, sought after and signature cards, so this simply could _not_ be his deck. Regardless, he wished to check anyway. 

“Spirit,” he murmured nervously. “It occurs to me that the case of this unlucky person may be my own. Tell me, am I set to die in the near future?”

Ryou patted him on the back. “We can’t tell you that. You simply have to watch.”

“But,” Seto argued, “What becomes of Mokuba? Of my company? They seem so happy about my passing. Show me some sadness, Spirit. Someone who looks upon the death of another in the way they should.”

Seto expected to be brought to Mokuba then; the only person in the world he could safely say would miss him if he were to pass on. But the scene around him changed as the Spirit’s ring glowed again, and it was not his own house he found himself in, but rather that of his clerk.

It was so silent, so unlike how it had been last time. Before, the Muto residence had been so colourful, and full of life. But now the children sat quietly, not seeming to rejoice in the holiday season at all. Téa stared at the half-hearted table spread, occasionally looking towards the door then back again.

Seto’s shoulders fell. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

“Oh, no. Not...not little Kuriboh. Don’t tell me he was-”

“Discarded from the field,” Ryou affirmed. “Yes.”

Seto looked back at Téa, who in turn looked to young Marik as he spoke up.

“He’s usually home by now. I think he’s walked a little slower these past few evenings.”

As if those words were a cue, the door opened, and there stood Yugi, that typical bounce in his step gone. His children stood and walked to him, hugging their father with triplet morose expressions. Yugi, in turn, squeezed them all tightly.

Then they dispersed, their quiet greeting over, and Téa took their place.

“How was it?” she asked.

“It was beautiful,” Yugi answered softly. “It would have done you good to see the graveyard for yourself. He has a wonderful spot off to the right and at the front where he can see everything around.”

He took his wife’s hand then and walked with her over to their children, kneeling before them. “Listen,” he said gently. “Life is made up of drawing and discarding; that is the way of things. I am sure we will never forget Kuriboh, or this first loss there was among us. And I know that, when we remember him, we’ll remember to not fight among ourselves, but to be kind and patient as he was.”

“A remarkable way of looking at it,” Seto admitted quietly, watching the family in their mourning. Then he noticed the Spirit’s ring shine, and nodded. “Of course. Time to move on, I understand.”

As their surroundings changed once more, he found himself surprised to realise the Muto’s loss had affected him too, and relieved to be free of it. But that relief only lasted a mere moment as dread quickly settled in.

If any physical place had frightened Seto by only existing, this was it. He looked at the foreboding iron gates of the cemetery before him, all but shaking as he did. It was as if something was telling him that he was reaching the end of his journey, and what he would see beyond would be the most fearsome vision yet.

“You are reaching the end of your journey, and what you will see beyond will be the most fearsome vision yet,” Ryou whispered.

Seto watched as Chrsitmas Yet To Come passed through the gate, following along dutifully, determined to see this to the end.

Oh, but this place was the dreariest yet! Old headstones, worn away by weather and age, surrounded them. The sky itself seemed to know the patch of Earth it covered, as it stretched out blank and lifeless above them, so cloudy that Seto could not tell if it was meant to be day or night.

They wandered the winding path for an age, finally coming to a stop in front of the biggest, grandest and worst-kept monument in the vicinity; a large, fearsome-looking dragon Seto knew only too well.

“Is...is this what you wanted me to see?”

The Spirit only pointed toward the headstone, ushering Seto on.

He shuffled forward, but hesitantly. “Before I look at the name written upon that stone, tell me; are these the shadows of things that _will_ be, or are they the shadows of things that _may_ be only?”

 

Again, the Spirit just pointed.

“Not all paths must be followed,” he insisted, inching ever closer to that foreboding memorial. “Should a man change his actions, he will also change his future. Tell me it’s true.”

The Spirit was immovable as ever, leaving Seto with no choice but to kneel before the stone dragon and brush away the dirt and dust to see the inscription.

Hᴇʀᴇ Lɪᴇs Sᴇᴛᴏ Kᴀɪʙᴀ

“Ah,” he said softly, not as bothered by the words as he might’ve been. “Not as climactic as I thought. I mean, it was a little obvious, wasn’t it?”

“Read on,” the Spirit urged impatiently.

So Seto continued to wipe the headstone clear until it read thus:

Hᴇʀᴇ Lɪᴇs Sᴇᴛᴏ Kᴀɪʙᴀ’s Bʟᴜᴇ-Eʏᴇs Wʜɪᴛᴇ Dʀᴀɢᴏɴs, Tᴏʀɴ Tᴏ Sʜʀᴇᴅs Bᴇʀᴏʀᴇ Hɪs Vᴇʀʏ Eʏᴇs.

“Oh. Oh, no, Spirit! Oh, no, no!” Seto flew over to Christmas Yet To Come, clutching the front of his jacket. “This is too much! Hear me, I am not the man I was! You must know that! Why show me such a tragic fate if I was beyond all hope?”

The Spirit said nothing at all.

“I will live in the Past, the Present and the Future! I will change my ways, and treat others with the kindness to which they are entitled! I will honour Christmas as it should be honoured, and try to keep it all the year! Just tell me I may sponge out the writing on this stone!”

As Seto continued to grasp to the Spirit, the cloth in his hand altered, and the cemetery began to melt away along with Christmas Yet To Come and his companion. Without the figure there to hold him up, Seto fell forward, landing in his bed, with his balled-up fists now gripping the covers.


	9. The End Of It

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/158446089@N03/36746588562/in/photostream/)

Yes! Bed bedpost was his own! The bed was his own! The room was his own! Best and happiest of all, the time ahead of him was his very own!

“I will live in the Past, the Present and the Future!” Seto repeated as he scrambled out of bed. He was so flustered and so glowing with his good intentions that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his call.

“They are not out the window,” he declared of his cards, perched in their usual place of honour by his bed. “Not torn to shreds. They are here: and I am here: and the shadows of things that would have been will be dispelled! I know it!”

“Brother!” The door to the room opened, and in walked the younger Kaiba, summoned most likely by his sibling’s merriment, dressed in his oversized pyjamas which were purple and long in the arms so that they hung over his hands. This fact isn’t especially relevant to the tale; however, it’s always worth taking a moment to address how Mokuba’s adorableness rivals that of a kitten.

“Mokuba!” Seto picked up the boy and swung him around. “I don’t know what to do!” he declared, and Mokuba couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying. “I am as light as a feather! I am as happy as an angel! I am as merry as a school boy! I am as giddy as a drunken man! I am as smiley as the Pot of Greed!

“No wonder you don’t know what to do,” remarked the younger boy. “Seto, nobody knows what Pot of Greed does.”

“Oh, a Merry Christmas to you, little brother!” He hugged him close and Mokuba, who didn’t have the faintest idea as to what was going on, happily returned the gesture and decided not to question it. “Ah – that is, it is Christmas, is it not?”

“Of course it is!”

“Then I haven’t missed it!” Seto put his brother down then. “The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like, of course they can!”

“Of course they can!” echoed Mokuba.

“You know the Poulterer’s just in town? Do you know whether they’ve sold the prize turkey that was hanging up in there? Not the little prize turkey; the big one?”

“The one as big as me? It’s hanging there now,” replied the boy.

“Go and buy it,” Seto ordered. “Then order somebody to drop it to my clerk’s home.”

“But brother, it’s Christmas,” Mokuba reminded him. “Will it even be open today?”  
  
Seto walked to his dresser and tossed Mokuba his wallet. “I expect so. We’re at that point in the plot. Now go!”

The boy was off like a shot, but doubled back at the door.

“Seto, I’m know I’m little, but even so – if there is a turkey the same size as me, perhaps it’s not the best thing to be eating. Should I just get the smaller turkey instead?”

“Ah – yes.” Seto stilled, and nodded.

Mokuba nodded too, and was off like a shot for real this time. Seto dressed in a hurry, barely able to do up his buttons for he was shaking so much. Then he took to the streets in search of a man – a specific one, that is.

He found him quick enough, that unusual-but-not-protagonist-worthy hair standing out in the crowd.

“How do you do!” he greeted cheerfully.

“Mr Kaiba?”

“Yes,” said Seto. “That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon, and if you’ll have the goodness-” he whispered an amount in the man’s ear.

“Sir! That much?”

“Not a penny less. And my company will happily donate a duel disk to each child under your charity, I assure you.”

“I-I-I don’t know what to say!” stammered the man.

“Say nothing,” Seto insisted; “But please come and visit me some time. Will you do that?” Tristan did promise, and Seto walked away after thanking him.

He jovially walked the streets and watched the people hurrying to and fro, filling his morning with cheer, before rushing home to be with the one person he wished to spend the season with more than any other.

Seto was up late that night with his dear Mokuba, and up again early the next day to make it to the office. If only he could catch Yugi behind schedule – that was what he had his heart set upon.

And he did! The clock struck nine, and there was no Yugi. Then five past, ten past; and at last at eighteen past, the door opened and in stepped young Muto, shrugging off his coat.

“What is the meaning of this?” Seto demanded, struggling to keep from breaking out into a grin.

“Ah—I apologise,” Yugi hurried to say. “I was up rather late last night. But-! It is only once a year!”

“Muto, I’m afraid I cannot abide this situation any longer,” Seto declared, rising to his feet, and Yugi for a moment feared for his job. But then: “And therefore, Muto, I am about to raise your salary!”

“You—I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, my friend. Raise your salary; and rest assured, I will help you and your family in any way I can. A Merry Christmas, Yugi – merrier than I’ve ever had, and many more to come!”

Seto was better than his word. He did it all and infinitely more. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city ever knew. It was often said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas all year around as well as anyone. May that truly be said of us, and all of us!

And as Kuriboh – who did not die – observed: “Kree-kree, kuree!” And I don’t think you need me to tell you what that means. 


End file.
